


fallin' (ai, ai, ai)

by BabaTunji



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe, Cousin Incest, Dubious Consent, M/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/pseuds/BabaTunji
Summary: T'Challa is a physics professor, Erik is a graduate engineering student.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dunkel_bier](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dunkel_bier).

> Title taken from the song “falling (temptation)” by grandson  
Gift for @dunkel_bier  
This was supposed to be a short smutty flick for dunkel_bier (we did a fic for art exchange!! go look at their amazing art!!!)  
https://twitter.com/dunkel_bier/status/1175778436524064768?s=20  
But the setup for this smutty scene got away with me so i split the actual point (the smut) into one part and my shenangans into this 1st part.  
Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/659ziX3lAEtZjlq8jyULl8?si=FLmsFHDRRSeFw5t7EF0xyg  


## fallin' part one

### TNTNTNTNTNTN

20 minutes into his office hours, T’Challa gets a text. One in a long stream these past few weeks. He ignores it and gets another 10 minutes later. This time with a picture attached. He had his phone set to ‘do not auto-download’ because he knows the type of pictures the person texting him likes to send. He doesn’t open that text either. 15 minutes before his office hours end, a student walks in. They have questions about the class assignment.

He can tell based on the discussion they have the student hasn’t even started the assignment. It’s due the next day. He tries to be sympathetic, but he’s been teaching this Physics course since he was a lowly adjunct and he knows this sort of student will either tough it out or drop the class. Based on the expression they leave his office with; he’s betting on them dropping the class.

By the time he leaves his office it’s a little after 6pm and his path to his campus apartment is surprisingly clear of the usual rabble of students. It’s not yet finals season so he’s a bit concerned till he remembers the date. Halloween was last weekend, oh. Well most were probably still recovering from alcohol poisoning or like his unfortunate student, scrambling to finish whatever they had been procrastinating on during the weekend. His phone rings, as he’s climbing the stairs, he answers on autopilot. He’s been expecting a call all day from his mother.

“Hello?”

“Are you busy tonight?”

No greeting and definitely not his mother.

“Yes, I am.” Not technically a lie. He could stand to grade some of his assignments tonight, maybe get around to some of the things he’s been procrastinating on.

“Busy with what?”

T’Challa could make up a lie or make it clear he just wasn’t in the mood for visitors.

“I already made plans.”

“What about tomorrow evening?”

Well if he spent the evening grading, tomorrow would be free. If he went out tonight…

“I’ll get back to you.” He refuses to commit. The line is quiet for a while and he opens his mouth to say goodbye when Erik speaks first.

“Are you mad at me?”

Said in his voice, in that soft *almost repentant tone might have melted T’Challa’s resolve before. Not today though.

“No. I’m not mad at you. Just busy.” Busy trying to find a way to tell his 20-something year old fuck buddy who was also a *student he didn’t want to see him anymore. Graduate student yes, but still a student. He hadn’t known Erik was a student when they met at a club months earlier. It had been summer; he had been going out more. Partly so he didn’t feel like such a shut-in, partly because most students were away from campus and it enhanced the adult life ambiance *immensely when the median age was 26 instead of 19. Looking back, he wishes he had asked more questions, been more suspicious of his handsome but not baby-faced admirer. He tells himself if he had then he definitely wouldn’t have slept with him, repeatedly.

Once he found out Erik was a student, he broke things off. It didn’t matter that they were in different colleges at the university or that Erik would never take any of his classes. It was discouraged for a reason. That ‘break’ hadn’t lasted long, and now 2 months later T’Challa is at the same spot he was 2 months prior. Armed with more evidence he should definitely not see Erik again.

He should hang up if Erik is done talking.

He doesn’t, wrestling with his keys and his phone and his briefcase as he opens his door, phone still pressed to his ear. He sets his briefcase on the ground and locks the door behind him. The foyer leading into the living room area is dark, he doesn’t bother turning on the light.

“You texted me during my office hours, so I haven’t read whatever you sent.” Probably some funny meme or research paper Erik thought he might be interested. That or a dick pic.

“It isn’t important, just something I wanted you to read.”

Now that T’Challa is listening for it, Erik’s tone is a little off. He starts to take off his shoes before responding.

“What is it about?” They had connected all those months ago because T’Challa had thought they were peers. Erik had certainly sounded like one when he debated T’Challa into a corner on the topic of gentrification. They’ve had more conversations like that since this affair started. It makes it easy to forget Erik is not his peer and T’Challa should stop before anyone’s feelings get hurt.

“Just some names, briefs I wanted you to go through. Nothing major, I was going to talk to you about it tonight but you’re busy. So we can try another night.”

About that… “I think we should sit down and talk, next time we meet.” T’Challa chooses his words carefully, because he doesn’t want to have this conversation over the phone but he needs Erik to understand their next meeting wouldn’t be like all the others. Where they had sex first and then had spirited discussion later, at which point T’Challa usually didn’t say or do what he needed to.

“I think we should too.”

Erik’s response leaves him confused. Then hopeful, maybe this didn’t have to be such a big deal. They were both adults, this was strictly casual and he may have been reading the possessiveness and that incident with Nakia wrong?

Maybe.

“Okay, I will text you a time and we can meet.” Somewhere public so it could be less awkward.

“Cool, see you then.”

Erik hangs up and T’Challa pulls the phone away from his ear. Walks to the breakfast counter and opens up his messages to download whatever Erik had sent him. He looks up when he hears what sounds like steps behind him. Something presses against his face, covering his nose and his mouth then everything goes dark.

### TNTNTNTNTNTN

The first picture arrives at midnight. The ransom note is laughable small, considering how much money the Udakus had. But Erik can’t find any humor in it because, what. the. fuck. He thought he’d been careful. He spends the next hour with his lieutenants trying to track the sender. After confirming what he already knew, T’Challa’s apartment was empty and he hadn’t made plans with anyone the night of. At least not by phone or social media. The second picture arrives around 2am. By then Erik has a duffel bag full of cash and enough guns for a small militia.

They think T’Challa is his boyfriend. They were smart enough to ask for money and keep it clean, dumb enough to threaten him in the first place. They also hadn’t done any research into T’Challa’s family. Not surprising, T’Chaka Udaku had been an African mogul and most of the world had a very low opinion on Africans. It confirms his belief, the perpetrators weren’t real competition. Just small fry who got lucky.

He’s annoyed and trigger happy when he and his men roll up on the dingy motel T’Challa is probably being kept. The kidnappers had been smart enough to use burner phones, and no electronics when they cased the apartment. So, Erik hadn’t been able to track them down in 15 minutes, no it took hours of actual boots on the ground. There were 3 other locations they could be, but the motel was the most likely.

He gets out of the armored SUV, duffle bag in hand. With luck T’Challa wouldn’t be conscious for whatever happened tonight.

No one answers when he knocks on the motel door, he’s not surprised.

He waits, impatient and a little numb from the unmitigated panic he’s felt since he saw that first picture. They would get their money, they would hand T’Challa over, unharmed and then they would die. Eventually someone comes to the door, a thin white lady.

“We didn’t order anything.” She thinks he’s a delivery guy.

He doesn’t pull his gun. Doesn’t say anything, waits for her to see the duffle, a rubber band of cash sticking out intentionally. He hadn’t zipped it all the way for a reason. She realizes who he must be and her expression changes.

“We didn’t hurt him. He’s just knocked out.”

He nods and sets down the duffle, ignores the way she flinches. They’re using her as a human shield. She must know it because she makes no move for the duffle bag.

“Bring him out.”

She shakes her head. “You have to come get him. So we know you didn’t call the cops.”

He prods the duffel towards her and steps into the motel when the door opens wider. This part was what his lieutenants had a problem with. Linda had wanted W’Kabi or someone else to retrieve T’Challa, not have Erik walk in to what was probably a trap. He only *barely managed to convince them that:

  1. these weren’t professionals 2. It would be more efficient to remove all evidence and backdoor it with him on the front and an obvious target. He had on a Kevlar and brought more money than they asked for. He would be fine.

These locals thought he was just an uppity businessman. One with the sort of cash and dirty dealings to want to avoid the cops if possible. His judgement proves correct. He counts 6 white men in the room, all armed, but without the uniformity or the training a professional squad would have and obviously tense. He keeps walking, past the tiny living area with two queen beds. The bathroom door is open, they have T’Challa in the tub. He’s still unconscious, Erik’s does a cursory scan for anything serious. The professor isn’t wearing shoes. It makes him look even more vulnerable. He’s reaching to lift him out when someone stops him.

“Stop. We gotta check the bag.”

Erik goes still, takes a deep breath and counts backwards from 100. He gets to 24 before he’s given the go ahead. He wastes no time lifting T’Challa out of the tub. He’s not light, but Erik’s carried him before. Usually to the shower or the bed. Not because some local criminals got a bright idea. He makes it back to the room with the armed men before they stop him again. Worse this time because they’re pointing their guns at T’Challa instead of just him.

“No cops, and no retaliation. Remember that. We didn’t hurt your professor here, but we could have.”

Erik listens and seethes. They hadn’t sent him their location; he had tracked them down. They probably would have done some damage if he hadn’t showed up so fast with cash. If he were them, he would be a lot more worried about how some random businessman was able to track them so quickly. But he guesses 200k in cash after you only asked for 120k is enough not to ask any further questions.

To the stupid statement, all he does is nod. This was his fault. When he realized who T’Challa is, when he realized what he really wanted, he should have put a detail on him. No way in hell would an unprofessional bunch like this ever gotten into T’Challa’s apartment otherwise. Not that T’Challa would be living in such an unsafe place in the first place. Not if he had anything to say about it.

He passes the white lady on his way out the door. Probably dreaming of what she would do with her cut of the duffle he just handed them. When he gets to the SUV, the driver opens the door for him, and he lays T’Challa out in the back. Wrestles a blanket on top of him and prays the sound doesn’t disturb his unnatural sleep. They would do a drug check when they got back to his place, make sure he’s okay. He closes the door to the SUV and settles into the passenger side in the front.

“Everything clear?”

The driver is smirking at him, Erik ignores it for now. They had all heard Linda’s ranting hours earlier when Erik called them down to find T’Challa.

“Clear.”

He gives the signal after they pull out of the parking lot. He still hears the gunshots anyway.

TNTNTNTNTNTN

T’Challa wakes up with a migraine. The type that made his eyes water and vision swim. He reaches for the lamp on his nightstand, but all his fingers meet is air. He forces his eyes open through the pain, realizing several things at once. 1. He is not in his bedroom, 2. He is not alone. 3. Erik and someone else were standing in an unfamiliar room and staring right at him. He blinks a few times, waiting for what he was seeing to make sense.

“Hey, T’Challa.” Erik’s affects a casual tone that contrasts with the closed expression on his face. “Glad you’re awake. Let me get you some water.”

He keeps speaking as if nothing was wrong and does not explain why T’Challa was not in his own bedroom or what was going on. T’Challa doesn’t speak till Erik walks right up to where he’s lying on the bed with water in hand. Mind racing and finding no good explanation for why Erik was here and what was or had happened. A dark thought occurs to him as he stares at the offered glass of water.

“Did you drug me?” If this was some sort of … kidnapping situation he wanted to know now. It’s been many years since he has been in this position, but he is too old to lose his head.

Erik stares, T’Challa thinks he sees something in the young man’s expression that might be confusion before settling on an expression T’Challa does recognize. It would be comical if the situation wasn’t so unsettling. He knows the look from previous meetings with Erik. The pout of resignation usually reserved for when T’Challa turned down an offer to ‘hang out’ or told him to leave after a quickie in his office.

“No. I didn’t. But someone else did. Do you remember anything?” Erik’s voice is level, and T’Challa listens for any hint of a lie or falsehood. Simultaneously he wracks his memory for anything pertaining to how he’d gotten to this strange room. He doesn’t even know what day it is.

“What day is it?”

Erik is still holding the glass. “Why don’t you take a sip?”

He doesn’t answer T’Challa’s question. Nor does he offer any more information.

“Where is my phone?” T’Challa spares a look to the other person in the room. A woman, brown skin, dark clothes and thick hair pulled back in a utilitarian bun. She is watching him but hasn’t said a word.

“Please take a sip first and I promise I’ll answer all your questions.” Erik pleas with him.

Terse seconds later T’Challa leans closer to the glass. Instead of handing the glass to him, Erik presses the glass to his lips. Disgruntled T’Challa sips. It doesn’t taste drugged. He sips less hesitantly, restraining himself from gulping it down. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Once he’s satisfied, he pulls away, ignoring the smile Erik sends his way before he sets the glass down.

“Now. What is going on?” T’Challa asks and hopes a little worried he wouldn’t regret his question.

Erik explains. Even pulls out his phone to show the ransom ‘note’ he had been sent for T’Challa. It makes no sense, especially when he sees the number they’d asked for his safe return. Most people didn’t have that type of money just lying around. Why would they think Erik had that sort of money? “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

For the first time Erik looks back at the strange woman in the room. Then back at T’Challa.

“I wanted to talk to you about this. Before last night. There’s some things I haven’t told you.” He sounds contrite, and oh so careful. T’Challa doesn’t like it one bit.

“Listen, if you’re doing anything illegal. I don’t want to know. I don’t need to know. Please.” He sounds a little panicked by the end, and his hands are now gripping the bedsheets. Whatever Erik was involved in, he really didn’t want to know. They were fuck buddies at best, and T’Challa shouldn’t have been fucking him in the first place. He doesn’t miss the dark expression that flashes on Erik’s face before it melts into that careful blank look T’Challa is learning to hate.

“They thought you were my boyfriend. It’s why you were targeted.” Erik tells him.

“I am not your boyfriend. In fact, I wanted to meet you and tell you we should stop seeing each other.” Before he’d been unceremoniously kidnapped.

“I—” Erik starts then stops. T’Challa waits, watching that blank expression fade for something that looks like hurt. Then it sharpens into something else. “I know you’re not my boyfriend. But they didn’t.”

T’Challa wonders why whoever his kidnappers were would be sending ransom notes to a graduate student. The ones he knew could barely afford groceries, let alone the number his kidnappers asked for. This situation made no sense. The answers lay in a can of worms he’d rather not open. If Erik wanted him to pay him back for the ransom note, T’Challa could and then they would be even.

“You paid them off, I can reimburse you the money. Now, there’s nothing stopping me from leaving.” It’s a statement, not a question, he would be leaving this room and wherever Erik had taken him post haste.

In response, Erik sighs then sends a cursory glance towards his watch. “Don’t worry about the money. The rest though, is not as easy.”

T’Challa stills, waiting for an explanation.

“I know you said you didn’t want to know, but I don’t think you understand the situation.” He’s been sitting this whole time on the edge of the bed. Now he leans closer as if sharing a secret. “I’m not a good man. We’ve been seeing each other long enough to give certain people ideas. The type that think they can hurt me by using you.”

One of Erik’s hands settle on his thigh. T’Challa pushes the hand away, mind whirling. “I am hardly ‘seeing you.’ Whatever happened before, it’s over.”

“T’Challa, several men broke into your apartment last night and drugged you. They carried you to a motel in the middle of nowhere. They could have done whatever they liked to your unconscious body while they waited for me to find them and pay your ransom note. They could have killed you, if they thought I wouldn’t pay them. Fortunately, they weren’t interested in hurting you, and they weren’t affiliated with one of my actual enemies. The next time this happens I can’t promise it will end this nicely.” Erik talks like they were discussing the weather and not T’Challa being kidnapped and potentially assaulted.

“There won’t be a next time.” He should have known something was fishy. What sort of graduate student owned a nightclub? What sort of people were Erik’s “actual enemies?”

Erik responds with a smirk; it is not just irritating but totally out of place. “There might be, if you’re still living at that apartment instead of somewhere safe and because—” Erik’s hand grips his thigh, “You will still be ‘seeing’ me. “

“Get your hand off me!” T’Challa loses his cool. This entire situation has felt strange since he woke up but now it’s past strange. Erik doesn’t even flinch. The hand doesn’t move either, not even when T’Challa tries to push it away.

“No need to yell.” Erik sounds bored as if waiting out a childish tantrum, T’Challa fumes.

“Erik, take your hands off me and give me my phone.” He asks again, less loud but no less firm.

Erik just stares at him as if he was being dramatic. “I can’t give you your phone back until I know you’ll behave.”

For the first time T’Challa feels real fear. This wasn’t his sometimes friend and frequent fuck buddy he was speaking to. This was someone else.

“What do you want?” He needed to know the terms, and he needed to get out of here. He shoots another look around the room. There were no windows. He hadn’t noticed that before. Just a bed, some furniture and an empty closet. The strange woman was standing beside the closed door, the only way out of the room. T’Challa realizes she was most likely acting as a 2nd guard in this situation. What had he gotten himself into?

The grip on his thigh loosens and Erik massages the flesh through T’Challa’s pants carefully as if in apology. “Your continued safety and your understanding.”

How reassuring. “Erik, I can’t see you anymore. Even if this… situation hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be able to. Whatever you are involved in is not my business. Why don’t we go our separate ways and—”

Erik leans in to kiss him. T’Challa pulls back abruptly, partly because it’s so unexpected partly because the strange woman is still watching them. Erik hadn’t even introduced her.

“Stop that and listen to me!” Erik doesn’t stop and he doesn’t listen.

T’Challa drops any mask of calm and struggles out from under the bedsheet but doesn’t manage the same with Erik’s grasp. Erik grips his right wrist in one hand and deflects his attempts to escape his hold with the other. T’Challa isn’t above going for cheap shots but he might as well have just stayed still and let Erik kiss him because he’s still trapped. T’Challa is just too tired and thirsty and hungry and confused.

He is still wearing his clothes from the day before, sticky with sleep sweat.

“Don’t panic, everything is fine. T’Challa, It’s me. Come on.” Erik sounds just as confused as he feels, trying to comfort him as if their current situation made sense.

“Let me go, Erik. I won’t go to the police, just let me go.” He is going to the police the minute he gets out of here.

“Why don’t you want to see me anymore? I thought you liked me?” Erik ignores his pleas.

T’Challa forces his brain to assess the question and come up with any sort of good response. One that wasn’t a mix of the same things he’s been asking for since he awakened.

“It isn’t appropriate. You should find someone your age.” He was still hung up on his ex and she might be visiting soon. That and Erik just wasn’t the sort you kept seeing. Once or twice or… several months in his case was more than enough.

“I’m graduating soon, we’re not even in the same college. 8 years isn’t even that much.” Erik answers but doesn’t release T’Challa from his grip. T’Challa makes the mistake of looking back where the woman watching them is standing. This entire situation was made more awkward knowing a complete stranger was watching him trying to break things off with his fuck buddy. Who was she?

“That’s not the point. I don’t want to see you anymore. Don’t make this awkward.” They were past awkward honestly.

“I want to date you seriously. I know you’re not seeing anyone else.” Erik acts like he hadn’t heard T’Challa.

“I don’t need to be seeing anyone else to tell you no.”

Erik doesn’t respond for a while and pretty soon T’Challa is holding his breath, waiting to see if maybe this time, Erik would take the hint.

“Our dads were good friends once. I think they would have wanted us to be close.”

T’Challa blinks, once, twice. “As convenient as that may be, I don’t care.”

Erik frowns and then finally, releases him. T’Challa puts some distance between them and Erik stands before he gets his phone out. Then he raises it so T’Challa can see, his knees leaning on the edge of the bed. The image he pulls up is a color picture, faded at the edges and apparently taken at his childhood home. In the picture is someone who is undeniably his father, late teens maybe with another teen T’Challa doesn’t recognize.

“My dad’s name was N’Jobu. He wrote about your father in his journals.”

T’Challa just stares at the picture of his childhood home. It could be doctored he tells himself. Erik was obviously some sort of criminal or involved in unsavory activities, he is holding T’Challa hostage.

There are more photos.

If they were doctored, T’Challa is impressed. He recognizes some of the background, he also recognizes the ring the young teen then young man is wearing besides his father.

“I even have his ring.” Erik says when T’Challa doesn’t say anything.

T’Challa doesn’t know what to think. His father had never mentioned a friend by the name of ‘N’Jobu.’ He also didn’t have any uncles or cousins that would fit the age of the person Erik claimed to be his father. T’Chaka had bequeathed his grandmother’s ring to T’Challa when he died, but never mentioned there was a duplicate ring. Why would Erik of all people or his father had a replica of that ring? This made no sense.

“I’ve never heard of your father.”

Erik shrugs. “He died when I was seven, so I don’t know the whole story. I think they were lovers.”

Well then. “What proof do you have?” Why should he care? His father maybe dating Erik’s father way back when didn’t mean anything. He needed to talk to his mother. That and get a restraining order.

“The rings. My father’s journal. Some stuff my mom told me. That’s all anecdotal. Please just... give me a chance. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Erik is trying to be calming but it has the opposite effect.

“You can’t force me to date you.” Whatever Erik is involved in, he didn’t want to be. He would get an actual security system… or move. Somewhere safer, be more careful.

“Why are you so against this? I can protect you if its my work that bothers you. I found you last night, those men won’t ever touch you again.” The way Erik says the last part sends off little alarm bells in T’Challa’s mind. Erik had told him not to worry about the money. What happened to the men who kidnapped him?

“I’m not ready to settle down with anyone.” Not completely true. There was one person he wanted to settle down with, she was just an entire continent away.

“Just dating is a start, right? Look, I know you like me and—” Erik’s expression is intense, thankfully he hasn’t gotten back on the bed.

“Have you been stalking me?” T’Challa hadn’t meant to say that out-loud. It’s just the way Erik says, ‘I know you like me.’ It’s too assured. As if he knew T’Challa wasn’t seeing someone else right now, or maybe he was just deluded.

“No.” There’s no hesitation in Erik’s tone and yet T’Challa doesn’t believe him. He’s also not sure he will get out of this room anytime soon if he doesn’t concede on something. Erik wanted to date him, and for him not to go to the police, file a restraining order and report his kidnapping. Which T’Challa isn’t convinced wasn’t just a story Erik cooked up. This is all just so fucked up.

“I need to call my mother, Erik. I’m not telling anyone what happened last night. But you have to understand, all of this—” He motions to the room with no windows, and the woman watching them like he was some sort of prisoner or flight risk, “—all of this is scaring me.”

Erik nods like he understands. Then he tells the strange woman to leave. T’Challa watches her go and wishes he could go with her. He doesn’t feel safer or more reassured now that they’re alone.

“Are you hungry?” Erik asks.

“Yes.” Hungry, tired and in need of a shower. He would feel better if he could deal with all three at home. But then he doesn’t know if going to the place he had been kidnapped from is the best idea.

“I’ll get something for you.” Erik starts to scroll on his phone and T’Challa tries again to get the conversation back on track.

“I want to go home Erik.” And to get his phone.

“It’s not safe.” Erik answers.

“I need to go home eventually. I need a change of clothes and a shower and—”

“You can do all of that here.”

“Where is here?” He’s been meaning to ask.

“My place.” Short and to the point. T’Challa is back to feeling annoyed, not that he ever stopped.

“What do I have to do to get my phone back?” He’s getting desperate here.

Erik looks up from his own phone, apparently ordering T’Challa food. “I already told you.”

“To get my phone back I have to agree to date you?” What a load of—. He stops his immediate and negative response. He was being obtuse. Erik wouldn’t know if he lied and he just had to get out of here.

“I already promised I wouldn’t cause you trouble. Do you really want to date me that badly?” He knows the answer, but he has to make his ‘change of heart’ convincing.

“Yes. I thought I made that clear before.” Erik sounds so serious. “We went on dates.”

T’Challa’s gaze shifts from Erik’s face to the bed. He guessed some of their shared outings could count as ‘dates.’ He saw them more as hook-ups.

“Fine. We’ll try dating.” T’Challa speaks with as much conviction as he can muster. He looks up in time to see a vibrant smile on Erik’s face.

“You won’t regret it. I told you not to worry about my work and I mean it.” Then Erik locks his phone and crawls back on the bed. It’s easier than it should be to stay still and let Erik come to him. This time when he goes in for a kiss, T’Challa doesn’t pull away.

### TNTNTNTNTNTN

Things don’t change, not the way T’Challa expects them to. After being kidnapped, then ‘rescued’ to be coerced into this strange new normal. He expects the worst and the first thing he does is to contact his mother. But then when he opens his mouth to tell her everything, he can’t. Instead he lets her talk, about Shuri, about the book she just read and the heatwave they were experiencing back home. T’Challa skirts awkward questions about the next time he would be visiting and the ever-hopeful update on Nakia, her fathers had visited Ramonda in March. They’re an hour into the conversation before he finally works up the courage to ask if she knew anyone by the name of ‘N’Jobu.’

His mother doesn’t recognize the name, and T’Challa deflates, feeling relief and disappointment. He doesn’t explain his questioning, whatever had happened between his father and Erik’s father—they were both dead now. He tells her goodbye and makes noises about visiting, soon—’yes the semester is in session, maybe in December’—and hangs up feeling just as lost as before he called her.

Erik had given him his phone and dropped him back at his apartment with the promise that he wouldn’t go to the police, wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened or that Erik was more than he seemed. Erik had not threatened him, not explicitly, he didn’t need to. The threat is implicit. Erik is dangerous, Erik had enemies, T’Challa would be vulnerable until he extracted himself. Erik knows who his family is, he claimed their fathers had been friends, lovers even. T’Challa doesn’t know what to believe. He knows that if he never sees Erik again, he wouldn’t be sad. But the chances of that happening, without some work on his part is looking very slim.

Every morning, Erik sends him a text. With emojis or pictures with a link to something he thought T’Challa might like. Tweets, or articles or essays. Before his kidnapping, T’Challa would look forward to it. It had fascinated him that Erik kept such a good handle on not just the sciences, but politics and social science. He knows now, it’s just part of being a successful criminal. He can extrapolate some of what Erik probably used his networks and money to do. Not all of it is bad, but all of it is connected. Tax havens and money laundering fronts, probably. If he thinks about it deeply, he’s a little impressed, then it makes him depressed. Why couldn’t Erik be a normal grad-student?

His new ‘boyfriend’ has people watching him. T’Challa doesn’t notice till weeks after it starts. Erik tells him, if it bothers him so much he should move, “—his apartment isn’t secure”. T’Challa has a new security system and healthy obsession with not getting kidnapped again, so he takes offense. They have a fight—or more accurately—T’Challa fumes and Erik waits to see if they will have sex afterwards. They do.

That’s the one thing T’Challa really expects to change. You would think knowing someone is a murderer (probably) and criminal (definitely) should dampen the sex appeal a bit. If anything, having this knowledge just enhances the attraction. Before T’Challa had thought of the younger man was like a puppy, an insistent, occasionally irritating paramour. Erik is still irritating but there’s nothing puppyish about him, not when T’Challa knows what he does for a living. He’s appropriately mortified at himself and Erik who picks immediately that his lifestyle isn’t a turnoff for T’Challa. How is he supposed to convince Erik to leave him alone, when they were having more sex now than ever? He couldn’t, that’s what.

Thus, the first part of extracting himself from this situation is summarized into: sleeping with Erik less. He makes himself busier, goes out more with friends and doesn’t say yes unless Erik makes it explicit it’s a date (which they’re supposed to be doing—dating) It doesn’t really work. Sure, Erik is busy, and not just with class. Yet he manages to find time to see T’Challa. When T’Challa demurs with classes, or work or prior obligations, Erik just changes the time or place, or both. The word ‘flexible’ should have Erik’s name next to it, that’s how annoying he is.

Even worse T’Challa can’t rile him up by refusing. He expects Erik to intimidate him, threaten him maybe when he makes excuses, they both know are bullshit, or doesn’t show up. Instead, Erik treats it like a game, the prize is getting T’Challa to not just agree but also show up. It’s like foreplay, and it makes it difficult for T’Challa to take him seriously. He needs to take Erik seriously, but his brain can’t connect the terrifying man who wouldn’t give him his phone back after he was kidnapped, to the one who just wants him to come out for ‘drinks.’ Especially not when it knows those ‘drinks’ come with amazing orgasms and even better conversation. He is in a hole of his own making.

Another unhelpful factor is, he is pretty sure his colleagues know about his dating life. Erik comes by his office hours sometimes; they have definitely been seen together. No one seems to care. T’Challa is on good terms with his Dean, and Erik isn’t some barely legal student. Presumably Erik also had very good relations with his college, or he made sure anyone who could be trouble would look the other way. Anyhow, Erik won’t accept that as an excuse and T’Challa isn’t facing any repercussions or even negative attention for dating someone 8 years his junior, joy.

Currently, T’Challa has tickets to see a guest speaker the university is hosting and plane tickets to NYC on that same day for a weekend getaway. He could have planned one himself, tickets aren’t that expensive, but Erik has something planned. Several things, he will probably enjoy. He looks over at the clock on the wall, its 2 pm and he has work he could be doing, if it wasn’t a Friday. He wants to go, to the outing in NYC. He is failing at ‘extracting’ himself from this situation.

There is a knock at his office door, and he perks up, thinking it’s a student or maybe another professor. “Come in!”

Erik steps in, T’Challa’s cheery expression disappears. At least it isn’t his office hours, Erik knows not to bother him then. If Erik is bothered by T’Challa’s cool demeanor he doesn’t let it show. He closes the door behind him and walks over to T’Challa’s desk. He’s dressed up, more than usual and a gold chain peaks out from under his shirt. T’Challa doesn’t greet him, nor does he offer Erik a seat.

“Have you decided yet?” Erik opens with a question.

“I have plans to see a guest speaker.” They texted all morning, not about anything important, Erik has been giving hints.

“Have you seen her before?” Erik doesn’t even look annoyed.

T’Challa has seen her before but he hedges. “She has a new book.”

“Buy the book and come with me. I know you haven’t seen my speaker.”

T’Challa’s eyebrow quirks at Erik’s confidence and the double entendre. “I know I will enjoy the lecture she gives; I don’t know about whoever you would choose.”

When Erik takes a little too long to respond, he realizes the younger man is staring at his lips. Nor does he seem to mind T’Challa just caught him staring.

“I’ve been giving hints; you aren’t a little curious?”

T’Challa is very curious, otherwise he would have already kicked Erik out. He crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. Ignoring the sharp flutter in his stomach that came with being alone with Erik anywhere.

“I don’t want to give up my weekend, maybe another time.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise, but if it will help change your mind—” Erik pulls out his phone and pulls up a picture.

T’Challa stares at the picture, seconds too long. He really shouldn’t be surprised at Erik remembering almost everything they talked about. The man is a stalker and T’Challa—is not even mad.

“I heard the event got cancelled.” T’Challa hadn’t planned to go, but he’s been following the guest speaker for years.

“They must have figured it out.” Erik is grinning, he doesn’t think T’Challa will say no. T’Challa says no. The grin on Erik’s face disappears.

“You’re gonna turn down seeing someone you really admire, just to spite me?” Erik’s demeanor has changed, and his eyes has a look T’Challa recognizes from that day when Erik wouldn’t give him his phone.

“It’s not spite.” Erik could try all his wants, but he can’t buy T’Challa’s affection.

“Then what is it?” Erik leans over the desk, T’Challa wonders if he meant to be intimidating or if it’s just passion. He isn’t defending his decision; Erik understood the word ‘no’ just fine.

“Fine, be like that.” Erik stands up straight again, his expression is back to being sly and T’Challa tenses in anticipation. “Did you used to have a VHS player before?”

T’Challa doesn’t get it, not at first. It’s 2016, the last time he owned one was… his eyes widen slightly. Twelve years ago, had been a very different time for him. For one he and Nakia had been dating, they’d messed around like any rich young kids with too much time on their hands. Nowadays, you could record video so easily, back then it had been expensive, and taken some setup. They had managed (and paid handsomely for it) just to record some silly, and then some not so silly videos. He doesn’t admit anything.

“I’m 36, you tell me.”

Erik calls his bluff. “They’re not that bad, the videos I mean.”

T’Challa is experiencing several emotions right now, eventually he settles on tepid acceptance. This is just what happens when you dated someone like Erik. They dug up your old VHS sex tapes and watched them.

“I didn’t know you had a praise kink.” T’Challa doesn’t like the contemplative tone of Erik’s voice.

“I don’t.” They weren’t discussing his kinks in his office, maybe after hours—since he wasn’t flying out to New York to see the speaker Erik had so thoughtfully booked.

“You do… I didn’t realize it before, but you do.” This entire time Erik has been moving closer, T’Challa hadn’t noticed it before because Erik was always moving, he didn’t like being still. T’Challa leans back a bit in his chair when Erik comes to stand beside him, behind the desk still with that curious look and too much confidence.

“...I think everyone likes feeling appreciated.” Who didn’t like being complimented?

“Sure, but you like it more than most people.” Erik sets a hand on the desk, inches away from where T’Challa’s laptop is still open. “I’ve been really serious with you, y'know? I don’t think you’re taking me seriously though.”

Erik’s voice is so soft, tiny alarm bells ring T’Challa’s head.

“What do you mean?” A part of him is scared, is always scared of what Erik might do, a smaller, reckless part is learning not to care. He wasn’t scared enough to end things when he should have, or maybe he was too scared *to* end things? Better to get away with good sex and wait for Erik to eventually grow bored. Than to tell him that no, he didn’t want to settle down with a mobster.

Erik closes the laptop. “You’ve been really resistant to me getting to know you. The only thing you want to do is have sex.”

So what did that say about T’Challa? Why wasn’t Erik taking the hint? When would he finally give up? “You know a lot about me already.” If he found the VHS tapes, then he would have found out other things as well.

“I do, but I want you to feel comfortable with me. It’s why I got the tickets; I know you like when we discuss and this is a subject and speaker you’re passionate about.”

“Do you think it makes me comfortable when you dig through my past?” How had he even found those VHS tapes?

“Because you won’t tell me anything!” Erik’s voice rises for the first time then lowers back into the odd soft tone. “I told you our dads were close, and you haven’t brought it up again. Did you even look into it?”

“I did.” T’Challa had. The information he found, from his mother and his father’s close friend Zuri—was inconclusive. Erik was probably telling the truth as he knew it, but the only people who could confirm were dead.

“—and?” Erik is starting to sound frustrated. T’Challa can relate.

“Only one person recognized the name, N’Jobu but they couldn’t tell me much.” Truthfully, he hadn’t been too eager to find the answers. Sometimes the past should stay in the past. Especially when they came with dangerous children.

“How convenient.” Erik doesn’t sound surprised.

T’Challa spares a look at his watch. There was still an hour or so before he would normally leave, several more before any event for the evening would begin. The tickets for the event in New York is still there, lying on the table. Asking him if he was sure he didn’t want to go.

“The tickets were very thoughtful Erik, but I already have plans for the evening. Maybe another time.” He is giving Erik an out to leave gracefully, naturally Erik does the opposite.

“You didn’t answer me before. Is sex all you want?” Erik’s tone is perfectly level, it puts T’Challa’s teeth on edge.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” It was not a request. T’Challa’s eyes flicker from Erik’s face to the door, now closed. Erik doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything either, just stares. Then he walks towards the door. For a few hopeful moments, T’Challa thinks he’s going to leave.

Erik locks the doorknob. Then he turns back around and says, “If it’s just sex, I can do that too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This did not go where I thought it would. Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Go read the lovely AgentMal’s “Brother Torres is Dead”  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825228?show_comments=true#main
> 
> I made an Erik Stevens playlist alongside the actual fic playlist:  
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Ju3xAuHJuD33BVn9Dr6eH?si=wzLKnj6wRNuSEPWht84eJA
> 
> (contrast it with my N’Jadaka playlist lol)  
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3USTfNAy2ApKUbzOnUv4hN?si=5tYbf-D0QF6woi_8A5ultg

##  **falling part two**

###  **TNTNTNTNTNTN**

They’ve been playing this game for a while. Erik allows it because he enjoys it. He likes turning ‘no’ to ‘yes,’ likes the look T’Challa gets when Erik surprises him—pleasantly. Loves when T’Challa lets Erik take him down, gets a special - if twisted - pleasure from making him forget, making him go quiet, making him come.

T’Challa is used to being led—by women. With Erik he’s different or at least T’Challa pretends it’s different. He makes Erik work for it, there’s always a struggle. Maybe it’s the age difference or maybe it’s Erik, whatever it is Erik has been willing to indulge him, but all games must come to an end. The two of them have been dating for months now, yet T'Challa is still handling him. Erik hates that. Especially knowing that the older man is playing with him, pushing his buttons so he goes too far. T'Challa is looking for a reason, a real one to tell him no and mean it.

Erik won’t give him one, but he thinks it’s past time he shows who’s in charge between the two of them.

T’Challa tells him, nicely, to leave. Erik locks the door.

He can practically feel the anger rolling off T’Challa at being disobeyed. He takes the time to roll up his sleeves, unlocking the cufflinks as he goes. He dressed up for the evening, but if they weren’t going out then he could loosen up a bit.

“Erik.” One word, a demand. T’Challa sounds firm, it’s almost convincing.

“I heard you.” He responds in three words, dismissive.

Erik walks over to the desk, sets his cufflinks down then makes eye contact. He’s not smiling, not playing off this moment to continue their game of back and forth. Not falling back to try and win T’Challa over again. If he’s honest he’s been losing his patience for some time now. He lets the silence sit, hopes it’s very uncomfortable for T’Challa. Erik wants the man’s mind to wander, wants him a little scared.

“Do you remember that night you got kidnapped? When I called you, I mentioned some briefs.” He watches T’Challa’s expression, waits for recognition.

“What’s this about?” T’Challa’s tone is mule-ish, he’s stalling. Playing dumb.

“You buried your head in the sand after that night, but I still want you to know what’s in those briefs.” He had been serious then and he’s serious now.

“This is about your work.” It’s a statement not a question and Erik can see the excuses, the stupid but well-meaning declarations that T’Challa ‘didn’t want to know’ forming on his tongue.

“You call me a mob boss sometimes, that’s not what I am.” Mob bosses didn’t do what Erik did, didn’t have the vision he had, and they weren’t Black either.

“Why does it matter? Erik, I don’t want any troubl—” T’Challa stops talking when Erik moves from the front of the desk to stand beside him. Erik hasn’t touched him, he doesn’t need to, T’Challa’s body is primed by this point.

“We are not having sex in my office, Erik, **leave**.”

Three things happen in quick succession: one, Erik grabs T’Challa’s arm. Two, T’Challa anticipating his approach pulls back, knocking his own chair over in the process. Three: Erik tackles T’Challa to the floor. The sound of the chair falling is loudest during the sequence but that’s mainly because Erik’s hand is covering T’Challa’s mouth by the time he’s tackled him to the floor. Restraining the older man isn’t easy, but Erik isn’t playing around, and he happily uses more force than he’s ever applied before. While he waits for T’Challa to stop struggling, he makes a survey of the room. The chances of them being interrupted if things got too loud were high, but he’s mostly confident that he can convince T’Challa to be quiet.

When T’Challa refuses to stop struggling he tells him: “Relax or I’ll knock you out.” It’s a warning he’s willing to act on, especially if this altercation doesn’t go the way he wants it to. 

T’Challa stops struggling, Erik waits 5 seconds before loosening his hold a little. T’Challa starts struggling again. He sighs and forces the hand that had been covering T’Challa’s mouth (and bit him, fuck that hurt) to his throat. T’Challa’s bite had broken skin, the blood from his hand smears on T’Challa’s cheek, and runs lazily down the side of his face. The struggling stops. Erik applies pressure to the restrained man’s windpipe for good measure. T’Challa’s breathing turns panicked, Erik watches it all impassive. Then he tells T’Challa: “Relax.”

It should be counter-intuitive. Telling a man, you have restrained on the floor, with your hand at their windpipe to relax, but T’Challa does and that’s how Erik knows he’s done these last few months right. This isn’t the first time he’s held T’Challa by the throat after all, or vice versa.

He releases the pressure slowly, lets T’Challa breathe uninterrupted, before sliding off him. He guides them both to their feet. One of his hands rests on T’Challa’s back and the other grips the man’s left forearm.

The chair is still overturned. He ignores it and leads T’Challa back to the desk.

“Erik. **Erik**!” T’Challa sounds insistent, but he has to know Erik has no intentions of listening. The firmness from earlier is gone, this demand sounds more like a childish whine. T’Challa wants them to keep playing, wants him to go back to pretending he’s okay with being led like a sucker.

“Get on the desk.” He doesn’t want an argument.

T’Challa’s eyes go from him to the desk, doesn’t move. Erik sighed, before he leans close and _ presses _ T’Challa onto the desk, so Erik is standing between his thighs and his ass is resting more fully on the desk. T’Challa isn’t hard yet, but Erik definitely is. He’s been looking forward to a moment like this, looking forward to dropping the mask and taking charge without a song and dance first. T’Challa’s breathing is starting to get panicked again, he leans back a bit. Changes his tone, as if he’s unsure and looking for reassurance. Leaves the edge out and puts his usual puppy-eyed charm on when he murmurs, “Professor… I don’t think you’ve been very fair to me lately.”

T’Challa’s expression is confused, and then exasperated. Erik grins in response, watches some of the fear slide off the older man’s features. 

“I treat you so nicely, but you keep being mean to me.” He grinds up a little, lets T’Challa feel his arousal. T’Challa raises the hand not currently keeping him stable on the desk to press hard against Erik’s chest. A request for space, Erik declines, presses up even closer.

“I just want you to return the favor, Professor. Be nice to me, like I am to you.”

It’s fine to be scared, only human to be afraid of what you don’t know. But there’s no way T’Challa could tell him he’s not attracted to Erik - _ all _ of him - and Erik would believe him. He’s had ample time to say no to Erik (his body, his work) and mean it, at this point he’s just toying with Erik’s temper.

“I _ am _ nice to you.” The professor won’t meet his eyes, and Erik has to bite his cheek at the demureness coming off those lowered eyes. Not so bold, now, was he?

“Not really, it feels like you only want me for my body.” The money is a non-issue, it used to amaze him in the beginning, just how much money didn’t bother T’Challa.

“I’m not a criminal, Erik—” The calm breaks and Erik’s grin fades.

“You talk a lot of shit, Professor, about social justice, about restorative work. Are you willing to back any of that with action? Or is it just academic to you? Nice words? Virtue signaling?” He has to tamp down on his anger.

“What you do—” T’Challa starts to answer and Erik retorts, “You don’t _ know _ what I do. You refuse to talk about any of it.”

“I can guess!” T’Challa raises his voice and Erik’s eyes dart to the door then back to T’Challa. The professor lowers his voice, “I can guess, Erik. Probably better than most.”

“Do you think it’s wrong?” He’s genuinely curious, T’Challa knew his politics, and some of what drove him.

T’Challa doesn’t answer immediately, shifting minutely in his grip. “I don’t know.”

The answer isn’t what he wants, but it will have to do for now.

He stops fucking around and lays his heart’s desire out. “I want your help, I want you with me.”

T’Challa takes even longer to answer this time. “You don’t need my help, you have a whole operation in motion.”

If the situation were different, Erik might preen, they’d come a long way since his father formed their group. “Yeah, but I want your help - I want _ you _ . I didn't say 'need', I said ' _ want _.'”

“I know you want me.” Not a yes or a no, or even a maybe. If anything, T’Challa sounds exhausted. It makes Erik feel bad for asking, for being such a nuisance. Suddenly he can’t. He can't have this conversation. Doesn’t want to deal with the sliver of the possibility that he’s met the one person to make him absolutely crazy, who pisses him off as much as they enamor him, and those feelings aren’t reciprocated.

He refocuses on his hard-on. Pulls the hand T’Challa has between them down so it presses the head of his dick. “Can you take care of this for me, Professor? Please?” He’s back to fucking around, because that’s all T’Challa was good for anyway.

Big brown eyes blink up at him, the expression is back to exasperation. T’Challa traces the outline of his dick, maintaining eye contact as he does. A breath, two— T’Challa bites his lip, tells Erik: “You have to be fast, no stalling.” After all that buildup it’s a little too easy but then that’s T’Challa for you. Then he wondered why Erik didn’t take him seriously.

Erik doesn’t respond in words, one hand going to his back pocket where he’d stashed travel-size lube and the other unbuckling his belt and pants. He’s thought about this happening enough times to know what he wants right now. 

###  **TNTNTNTNTNTN**

Erik won’t let go of him. T’Challa takes in shallow breaths as the younger man undoes his pants. He isn’t hard yet, but he could be. Erik slides down to his knees, right in front of him, his own erection momentarily forgotten. He doesn’t waste time, hands and mouth working together. Erik maintains eye-contact as his tongue slides over the head of T’Challa’s cock and his hands stroke from base to tip. He seems to be challenging T’Challa to pull away, to deny his enjoyment and pleasure. A part of T’Challa wants to, but the rest of him just wants to not slide off the table. Erik does something very inspired with a tongue and twist combo that has T’Challa stifling a groan. 

Technically he could leave right now, push Erik away, stop this train wreck before it goes places, he wants to avoid. But he doesn’t. He lets Erik work him, lets the younger man suck and stroke till he’s trying to pull away from the over-stimulation. It doesn’t usually take long when they do this in his office, his paranoia about someone coming to investigate the sounds from earlier, or even a knock at the door has him wanting to wrap this all as fast as humanly possible. Erik presses his hips back against the desk when he tries ineffectively to push back against the younger man’s mouth. One of the hands previously on T’Challa’s cock coming up to hold him still while he sucked T’Challa off. He knows T’Challa’s incoming orgasm tells well and T’Challa doesn’t feel the need to warn him, remembering a bit belated they weren’t using a condom—when Erik stops abruptly. 

It leaves him utterly confused, and he groans frustrated. Erik doesn’t give an explanation and instead rises to his feet, before pressing his body right up against T’Challa’s and leading him to lay down more firmly, till his back is resting on the desk. The action is almost tender. Then he’s shoving T’Challa’s pants down the rest of the way and lifting T’Challa’s thighs up. T’Challa panics, he wasn’t at all prepared for anal right now, he’d agreed to a blowjob not whatever was happening now. His struggling is ignored by Erik and results in his pants getting even more tangled around his ankles. Erik in turn applies more of his body weight in order to keep T’Challa pinned. A hand comes up to wrap around T’Challa’s knees, pulling them tightly closed and creating a smaller triangular space in between T’Challa’s thighs. The position would hurt a lot more if T’Challa was less flexible, as it is, the angle reminds him just how heavy Erik is. He had 30 pounds on T’Challa easy, and T’Challa feels every single one currently. 

He lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding when Erik makes no move towards his ass. He can’t see exactly what Erik is doing but the sound of the lube cap being closed shut tells him Erik was doing something. Then Erik slides his cock in between the space of T’Challa’s thighs. There’s not really that much space, not with the way he has T’Challa pinned and his thighs are positioned. The lube on his cock smears T’Challa’s stomach and thighs and confirms where this was going. T’Challa tightens the space between his thighs and Erik starts to rock. Slow and languid at first, and then increasing in speed as he finds a rhythm he likes. 

T’Challa has a hand on the top of Erik’s arm to grip for stability and the other on the desk to stop him from traveling too much on the desk. There’s not enough space to even get a hand between them, all he can do is rock with the motion and rhythm Erik sets. Somehow this feels more intimate than actual penetration. Erik is murmuring filth in his ear and T’Challa feels over-warm, pinned on the desk as Erik ruts between his legs. He’s still hard from Erik’s earlier ministration, but he can’t touch himself, just wait for Erik to come or give him some much-needed attention. 

Erik comes. T’Challa feels it coming, when the rocking stutters and remembers much too late where the spray would go when it happened. Come splashes him on the face, staining his shirt, and sliding down his thighs, he grumbles annoyed and pushes Erik of impatiently. He had a coat to cover the stains but fuck this was a hassle, he could have used a condom. Erik lets him up and T’Challa looks around for tissues, he’s distracted from complaining and cleaning up the mess when one of Erik’s hands wraps around his erection again. It’s gone down a bit from lack of stimulation, but it perks right up at Erik finishing what he started. He waits impatiently for Erik to jerk him off, but the younger man’s hand doesn’t move. He stares at T’Challa, pinning him with a much too knowing look. 

“You did good, keeping quiet for me. So, here’s what’s going to happen now. You’re going to put your clothes on, clean up this mess, and follow me to the car. We’ll go to my place and you’ll change into something nice, and we’ll get on that flight to NYC and have a great evening. And then you get to come.”

T’Challa opens his mouth to disagree, he had already said no. Erik interrupts. “I’m not done. Don’t pretend you’re not with me, don’t pretend you’re not for me. Not when you’re waiting for a text, a touch, a glance.” He looks down at where he’s holding T’Challa’s cock, strokes it casually. “I’m not playing games with you anymore.” 

“This was never a game Erik.” T’Challa tells him all while feeling… wrong footed. Something has changed, he can feel it in the way Erik stares at him. He just wants to come, he hadn’t agreed to anything more than some oral. He starts to say, “I know you’re not deaf—” 

Erik nudges T’Challa’s cheek with the hand not currently holding his cock. “Say yes, T’Challa.” He punctuates T’Challa’s name with another stroke. 

Confused desire roils through T'Challa. He feels physically compelled to say yes, even though he's aware it's his body wanting to say anything in desperation to cum. But would it be so bad? Everything else Erik was proposing? The reasons a relationship between them wouldn't work out are at present harder to grasp, insubstantial. They wouldn't last, for so many reasons, he knew, but the exact reasons were eluding him now. Even more so the reasons not to go on a spontaneous trip. The lecture would be interesting. 

Suddenly Erik interrupted his thoughts with another slow, teasing stroke, and when T'Challa opens his eyes and lock onto Erik, his mind was made up. Yes, yes to coming, yes to going out tonight, yes to a relationship that he knows will end badly. Yes, to Erik. He nods slowly, and Erik pulls his hand away, already reaching for the nearby box of tissues, coming back to dab T’Challa’s face and shirt. Then he’s fixing his own clothes, picking up the chair they knocked over, and checking the time on his phone. T’Challa wills his erection to soften and pulls his pants back on, cleaning the come off as he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not really satisfied with this, but my muse is tired. might attempt a sequel another time.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Professor T’Challa, Student Erik. Top Erik. Half-clothed (not in a bed) sex. Dub con or Non Con.  
T’Challa Udaku (Age 36): Professor of Physics, father (T’Chaka Udaku, Business Mogul) died the year before leaving him, his mom and sister to inherit.  
Erik Stevens (Age 28): Graduate Engineering student, father died when he was young, raised by his mom. Groomed since he was young to handle the family business (Think Mafia/Organized crime)


End file.
